Jealousy
by Claire Darcy
Summary: He knows it's too late, but he's still jealous. ONESHOT GOODNESS


_Honestly, I have no idea where this came from. And I'm not sure what to think about it. You know, of course, what's coming next so I won't even bother (-cough-reviews-cough-). Thanks for reading.

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He has been locked in his office since ten thirty-nine.

Cameron had somehow memorized the exact time when he stormed in through his office door, stopping abruptly when he caught her eye. They had stared at each other, their eyes locked in an epic challenge. It was he who finally broke the gaze, forcefully shutting all the blinds in his office.

Even through the thick walls, she hears the blaring of his headphones.

He is such a baby, she thinks.

But of course, she has no idea what's got him so angry. What's got him seeing red.

Cameron eventually decides that she cannot possibly finish sorting _his_ mail with the scratchy buzz of his music incessantly biting in her ears. She pushes her chair back a little too hard, and it collides with the behind her.

He doesn't even look up when she enters his office, his sanctuary. In fact, it looks like he doesn't even notice she's come in. She takes a seat in the chair across from him, hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting for him to realize that he's not alone anymore and open his eyes. It doesn't take long. At first he is clearly surprised to see her staring intently at him, but he is soon glaring at her viciously.

"Get the hell out of my office."

His voice is sharp, dripping with bitter hatred. For a moment, Cameron has no idea what could have possibly gotten him so pissed.

And then she realizes:

_He knows_.

It was definitely at the top of the list of worst-case scenarios when she started. But she'd made that list in hopes that she'd be able to avoid all those things. So, this begs the question:

How the hell did he find out?

Cameron glances nervously up at him, slightly terrified to see all the sharp angles in his face, and she swears she can see fire in his eyes.

"Cameron."

He spits out her name like it's a swear word.

She timidly meets his eye.

And what she sees makes her want to cry.

Because behind all of his current resentment and vile dislike of her, she sees what she had been hoping for;

_Jealousy_.

He's jealous because she had given up on him.

And moved on.

With his best friend.

As she thinks about it this way, Cameron is suddenly much more understanding of his reaction.

"Get out," he says again, quieter. Cameron hears the despair in his voice.

She wants desperately to reach out and hold him, to wipe away that envy.

She knows it's better not to speak, but still, she opens her mouth.

"Greg…"

But that's not her voice that she imagines she can feel rumbling in her chest, shaking her bones.

Cameron doesn't need to turn in her seat to know that her lover is standing in the doorway. She can see his soft hair falling rebelliously into his face, his dark eyes clouded with a mixture of anger and anxiousness.

And while she remains perfectly still, rigid even, he glances up, tensing immediately at the sight of his only friend.

"You son of a bitch," he hisses under his breath.

Cameron feels her blood curdling at his voice.

"Greg, don't do this," his friend tries.

She knows it's no use.

He's leaned back in his chair, gnawing disgustingly on the end of one of his pills.

Cameron's feels strong hands grasping her shoulders. She tilts her head back, and finds herself lost in his chocolaty eyes. He is so beautiful, and _he_ wants her.

It's something she can't seem to figure out.

She's vaguely aware of him urging her out her chair, and taking him into her arms.

And the only thing she can think of is

_Poor House_.

Because in the reflection on the glass door of his office she can see him, slumped down in his chair, and she thinks that maybe his jaw is quivering.

Just a little.

But she doesn't do what she knows she should, which is to caress him and tell him that he hasn't missed his chance.

Though, of course, he has.

Instead, she allows her lover to take her away from him and back to his apartment.

And, the rest of their day, spent in his bed, their fingertips mapping out paths across each others' skin, all she can think of is his face when his only friend wrapped his arm protectively around her and pressed his hand into her hip.

The one thing she sees flit across his face before it is chased away by the prospect of a long night of drunken bliss;

_Jealousy._


End file.
